


Teach Me How To Love

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, College, Collegestuck, Drabble, F/F, Fluff, Oneshot, TA!Rose, Teacher-Student Relationship, kind of, rose is a grad student kanaya is undergrad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 11:11:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6982069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kanaya is an undergrad student swamped with work. The distraction factor of having Rose Lalonde in her class only makes it harder to stay focused. Her professor's T.A. leaves witty comments on her essays, while Rose quietly writes, and Kanaya honestly cannot deal with college. </p><p>Having the nerve to ask out her crush would lessen one burden, at least...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teach Me How To Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Splashy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splashy/gifts).



> For Splashy! A while ago you requested a teacher/student rosemary fic, and here I am, finally delivering : )
> 
> Also, I just wanted to say thank you. I see your comments on almost every rosemary fic I've ever read. Your dedication is very much appreciated, and trust me, you're the type of reader every fic writer aspires to have.

Kanaya never expected English to be her favorite class at Skaia University.

She liked the subject, sure, but she wasn’t passionate about it. Fashion, now that was a different story. If she had thought in advance about which course would be her favorite, she definitely would have guessed one of her design classes. Not English. 

Rose Lalonde was the factor that turned her predictions upside down. 

Rose was a blonde girl who usually sat in the back left corner of the English room. She was quiet for the most part, except for those occasions in which she would raise her hand and offer an insight that was downright philosophical. After hearing but a sentence from the girl, Kanaya could tell she was smart. No, smart was an understatement. Rose Lalonde was _damn intelligent._

She was also extremely pretty.

It was a good thing for Kanaya that she was seated in front of Rose, otherwise her grade would have suffered mightily. It was already hard enough trying not to stare whenever Rose spoke. If Kanaya had the opportunity to look upon her, even just the back of her head, for the entire class? She would never learn anything.

Throughout the first semester, Kanaya had deliberated on whether or not to confess her feelings. She was in college, she reminded herself. Dating should be no big deal. Rose had a rainbow pin on the messenger bag she carried around, so Kanaya thought it was safe to assume that she was gay. The worst she could walk away with was a bruised ego, should she instigate romantic interaction. 

She was nervous to call it flirting. She had never been good at flirting, and any attempt to try again would likely result in humiliation. Kanaya stuck with “romantic interaction,” just to keep it simpler. After all, it was just conversation, but in a different context. Nothing to it. 

Through the grueling process of collegiate schooling, however, Kanaya simply did not have the time to interact with Rose, romantically or otherwise. Her homework and designs took up all of her time. When she wasn’t sewing, she was writing some essay or another, and vice versa. There seemed to be no escape from the crushing weight of responsibility. Occasionally, one of her friends would contact her, and she would humor a brief conversation. But soon enough she would be working harder than ever. She could afford to lose no time.

At the present moment, Kanaya was looking over the comments on one of her essays for English. She was unlike her peers in her enjoyment of the revision process. The English professor’s T.A. usually graded essays, and the comments she left were amusing as well as helpful. They could be scathing, which was the source of many student’s enmity towards her, but Kanaya took no offense. One had to be able to take constructive criticism in order to be a good writer. She wasn’t even an English major, and she knew that. 

_”This paragraph is clunky,”_ one of the T.A.’s more sarcastic comments read. _”Imagine a small child tugging at your sleeve. ‘I want food,’ it says. ‘I want food. I want food. I want food.’ You have absolutely no desire to continue listening to it, just as you probably have no desire to be writing this paper, but all the same, you wish it would change its sentence structure. Even a bit of variation would make its droning more interesting. You must try to put some effort into… No, wait. Perhaps this analogy will not apply to you. Not everyone is so critical of youth as I am. The point is, add some variety. This section is monotonous and a chore to read through.”_

Kanaya smiled. She had grown accustomed to the T.A.’s style of criticism, and had even began to build a rapport with the faceless instructor. She would leave responses to the comments, sometimes responding even before she began to edit her essay as they dictated.

She supposed this was a sign of how lacking her social life was.

 _”Are you sure you are meant to work in a college setting?”_ she wrote. _”You sound like you would make a lovely grammar school employee. I can see it now. The children, with all their mediocre sentence structures, begging to visit the restroom. You, informing them that ‘may’ would be a better word choice than ‘can.’ I believe I have just helped you to find your secret calling.”_

Kanaya would have to wait for her next draft to be graded to receive a response. Once, she and the T.A. had begun a conversation that lasted the course of three separate assignments. Each paper had come back with the margins obscured by purple ink. Eventually, one was handed to her with a separate sheet of notes stapled to it.

Kanaya was tempted to ask the mysterious girl for her number, but she felt that it would disturb their relationship, if it could be called that. It was like having a secret pen pal. Revealing the person behind the writing would make it different. Not worse, necessarily, but different. And Kanaya didn’t want to change what they had.

She was distracted from her schoolwork enough without adding another friend to keep track of. Damn it, why did Rose have to be so relentlessly attractive? Kanaya could never focus!

Adding to her dismay, one of newest assignments was a poem. She was good enough at technical writing to scrape a good grade, but poetry? It was like a different language. No matter how hard she tried, the words she wrote sounded flat and wrong. Nothing like the emotional beauty poetry was supposed to be. 

Her teacher suggested she choose a subject she had strong nostalgic or whimsical feelings about. If she spoke from personal experience, the writing would come easier.

This advice didn’t help Kanaya. Her life had been so consumed by work, she had no time for whimsy. She could write about designing, she supposed. That was something she felt strongly about. But doing so would only remind her of the piles of fabric that needed to be sewn up, and she would end up procrastinating on the actual writing. She was stuck. What was there that she could write about?

Well… Some of the greatest poets were romantics.

An idea began to bloom in Kanaya’s mind, but she hesitated to voice it. If she followed through, someone would end up reading her most personal feelings, and she didn’t know how comfortable she was with that.

But then again, personal feelings were exactly what the professor wanted.

Kanaya set her pen to the page.

***

“ _Corner-maiden, goddess of word,_

_Softly spoken but always heard._

_Your innermost thoughts are the knowledge I seek._

_Oh, if I could turn my head._

_Eyes of lilac, skin of fresh snow,_

_In the face of your grace, I am my own foe._

_My heart would be free if we were to speak._

_The burden of silence, I long to shed._

_Apple of my eye, flower of my heart,_

_I cannot think of where to start._

_Affection is strong, but resolve is weak._

_Until I say what must be said._

_Resolution lies ahead.”_

***

Kanaya’s poem came back with only a single comment.

_”Meet me after class on Monday. I’ll be waiting.”_

Her mind immediately went into overdrive. She had obviously done something wrong. Had her poem been terrible? To be fair, she had written it on three hours of sleep and two cups of coffee. Or maybe she had been too personal with it. Ugh, poetry was not her greatest strength.

Despite her worries, Kanaya made sure to be present at the time specified. After Monday’s English class was over, she waited in the classroom as her fellow students filed out. 

No one came into the room. It was just Kanaya, her teacher, and, in the corner of the room, Rose. Kanaya’s heart thudded. If she were to interact romantically, now would be a prime opportunity.

Hardly daring to breathe, she inched closer to the girl, who was absorbed with the paper in front of her. Kanaya would have been perfectly content to watch her scribble had she not been found out. Rose startled.

“Oh, I didn’t see you there. Hello.”

Kanaya rushed to make an excuse for her staring. “Oh, hello! I was just, um…” Yeah, there was no way out of this one. She had quite clearly been watching Rose.

To Kanaya’s surprise, Rose smiled. “It’s all right. I’ve been meaning to talk to you, anyway.”

“You have?” Kanaya fought to keep her delight hidden. Why would Rose want to talk to her?

“Well, for one, you’re quite beautiful,” Rose said casually. “But I should think you know why I want to speak to you. Didn’t you read my note?”

Kanaya tilted her head. “What note?”

“I told you to meet me after class today. Don’t tell em you don’t remember.”

Confusion clouded Kanaya’s mind, until, _click_ , the pieces fit together. She clapped a hand over her mouth. Already, she could feel her cheeks turning bright red.

“Oh my god you read that poem.”

Rose’s smile turned to a smirk. “Before now I was only suspicious that it was about me. Thank you for confirming my theory.”

Kanaya wanted to sink through the floor and disappear.

“I am assuming you were unaware that I was not an actual student of this class,” said Rose. “I am, in fact, a graduate student, and teaching assistant. But I’m very glad of your ignorance. The poem was lovely, and it would have been a shame if I never got to read it.”

Kanaya looked away, her face burning. “I, um. Oh gosh. Please do not think too harshly of me, I know exactly how silly it was.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Rose beckoned Kanaya closer, and she reluctantly closed the gap between them. “You’re wrong, if you think I’m judging you. Would you like to know something else you are wrong about?”

Up close, Kanaya could see the tiny freckles that dotted Rose’s cheeks. She could see every fleck of blue in those violet eyes. 

“You think I don’t reciprocate your feelings,” Rose said, looking directly into Kanaya’s eyes.

It took a moment for the meaning of her words to sink in. Kanaya’s hand lept to her mouth once more.

“You do not mean…”

“That I harbor a magnificent crush on you? But of course. Ever since you walked through that door,” Rose waved her hand at the classroom door, “I have been enamoured with you. I had no way of gauging your interest, however, so I did not make any advances. I was not entirely sure you were interested in girls, if I am truthful. Or if you were single. And it was doubly taboo due to that fact that I am a graduate student, whereas you are a freshman.” 

“Does that really matter?” Kanaya burst out. She had already embarrassed herself, she could do no further damage. “I am interested. You are interested. I have met plenty of couples with larger age gaps, why should we not give it a try?”

Rose’s smile widened. The sight of it sent a thrill through Kanaya’s heart. She wanted to make Rose smile again and again.

“I suppose there is no reason.” Rose gently took Kanaya’s hand in hers. “So. Would you like to go and get coffee?”

Kanaya was suddenly struck by how idiotic she had been. Romantic interaction was a very very good idea and she should not have hidden behind her work to get out of it. She needed to drop a class or two anyway, she was putting herself under far too much stress. 

If she and Rose continued to spend time together, it would be a welcome development. 

Kanaya smiled. “Yes. I would love to.”

Rose stood up. “Excellent. Shall we go, then?”

“Yes.”

Rose led her out the door, and they started off down the hall. “So,” she said. “I don’t know what you enjoy discussing, but I’m not against a bit of literary analysis. Regarding an old paper of yours; did you truly not enjoy _To Kill A Mockingbird_?”

Kanaya grimaced. “Oh, _that_ paper. The book had a wonderful theme, of course, and I will not deny its position as a classic, but I prefer fiction of a more romantic or fantastical nature.”

Rose grinned. “Hmm. I do believe I have many recommendations for you, then. I am a fantasy lover myself.”

“I would be delighted to hear them.”

Rose had not let go of Kanaya’s hand, and she relished in the feeling of their fingers entwined. Writing poetry had been such a good idea. Why didn’t she do it more often?

Yes, English was definitely her favorite class.


End file.
